


The Blood on my Hands

by MediocreHuman



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, POV Roy Harper, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:59:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreHuman/pseuds/MediocreHuman
Summary: Roy reflects on himself and the War





	The Blood on my Hands

I was 22 when I became a murderer. A true murderer, in the eyes of both myself and the rest of the state, if they ever found out what I was ordered to do. My hands shook, arguably worse then they did when I shot that Ishvalan kid.

The kid who haunts my dreams with his terrified eyes, drafted into a war he neither started nor would ever see the end of. That death could be explained. If I tried hard enough maybe I could convince myself it was in self-defense. I doubt there’s enough alcohol in the world to change what I know is true but I can try.

This...there is no excuse. Two doctors...two citizens of my own nation...two parents. Me, who knows the pain of losing both my parents at such a young age just orphaned a young girl. What did they do to deserve this? What. Did. They. Do?

Nothing.

They did nothing.

They did something.

They helped the enemy.

They healed those who killed our soldiers.

They just wanted to help.

So I killed them.

_I just wanted to help._

I wanted to build a nation I and everyone else could be proud of. I’m not proud anymore.

I want to die.

It would be selfish of me to die.

I’m scared.

I try.

_I am stopped._

I feel guilty about the relief that shoots through me. I really am useless. A useless bastard. I can try and burn away the sins of my superiors till the sky turns black and the body count is beyond my comprehension but I can never burn away my own sins.

My sins are the flames itself, leaving the remains of my mind and soul in shattered pieces on the ground.

I don’t bother picking up the pieces.

My mind heals.

My soul bleeds.

I miss the boy I used to be.

I was 22 when I became a murderer in the eyes of the state.

I was a murderer long before that time.

**War really does bring out the worst in people.**


End file.
